Acting Strangely
by DerpPerp
Summary: John has noticed that Sherlock has been acting a bit strangely. That is, stranger than usual.
1. Chapter 1

_Where do I begin?_

_Sherlock has been acting quite strangely recently; that is, stranger than usual._

_Always giving me weird looks._

_I tried asking._

_He just stared for a second and walked away, all dramatic like._

_What a curious person._

John looked down with contempt at his laptop screen. This entry was not, in fact, about their latest case. How disappointing.

Sherlock entered the room suddenly, causing John to start. He shut his laptop and looked up at his flatmate. Sherlock, still wearing his pajamas and robe, stalked into the kitchen to retrieve something. John assumed it was another one of his experiments. Without a single glance in John's direction, Sherlock marched out of the flat, down the stairs, and outside. From his spot in the chair, John could hear loud banging noises coming from the street below.

John wasn't curious enough to go see what it was the detective was up to.

The sound of the door opening and slamming again reached John. He looked toward the stairs leading to the flat, expecting Sherlock to come barging in at any moment.

It took only a few moments for Sherlock to reach the main room.

John, upon seeing him, gave a small yelp.

"What. Were. You. Doing." John made a point to emphasize each word.

"Merely standard procedure, John. The quality of the air this morning suggests a storm later on." Sherlock was covered in mud and filth, with bits of torn up weeds scattered along the front of his outfit. It appeared that he was now holding some dirt covered ornaments.

"I was collecting my subjects for the decomposition experiments that I have been conducting for the past few weeks." Here, he gave a tired sigh, as if he were bored. He looked around, as if searching for a place to put his fragile things. "As you know," he continued, "I've already collected the data I need for decomposition in temperate oceanic climates. I must keep these dry." He held up his hand to show John what he was talking about. Out of disgust, John looked away, afraid that what he might see would revolt him beyond repair.

"All right..." John began, "But don't put them anywhere near the tea." He looked up to make sure Sherlock was listening. "Got it?"

Sherlock merely nodded slightly, not even bothering to change his focus of attention.

His face lit up and he started for the fireplace, past where John was sitting with his legs crossed. John followed Sherlock's movements, simply trying to keep up with where not to look. Once Sherlock had finished, he turned sharply toward John and spoke quickly, though eloquently,

"John, I'm not busy this afternoon, and seeing as there's no cases for me – us, I mean, to solve, I was hoping you wouldn't mind coming with me to possibly pick something up."

John was about to protest, to say that he had been planning to meet up with someone, but Sherlock spoke too fast.

"Good, then. I'll be back in a few moments. I hope you're ready." With that, he headed toward his room, his blue robe neatly spread out behind him as he strode.

"Sherlock, wait – "

"No time to chat, Dr. Watson, this is of the utmost importance."

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><p><em>Okay, this is my first Sherlock fic, so any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated.<em>

_Thanks._


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as Sherlock reappeared from his room, John hastily grabbed his coat, and the two took off. The tall detective was several paces ahead of John, keeping a steady gait, but the short doctor had to jog to catch up.

"Where are we going, then?"

"You'll see," Sherlock said in a tone that almost sounded playful, though his face did not change in the slightest. They took a few turns, and after about ten minutes, eventually arrived in a shabby alley that John did not recognize.. John noticed faded vandalism on the wet brick walls on either side of them. He hadn't noticed until now, but there was a light drizzle of rain.

"Sherlock," John began, but his companion cut him off before he could continue.

"Not now, John." Then, in a lower voice, "We're almost there." At this moment, John glanced to their right and saw deserted cans next to small patches of dry ground where someone had been sitting not long ago. Half distracted, John heard Sherlock muttering quickly under his breath, which the former could not make out entirely.

They turned yet another corner and Sherlock held out his arm, signing to Watson to stop.

"Wait for me here. Don't move." Sherlock's voice was but a whisper, so quiet that John almost didn't hear him over the increasing rain. His friend continued toward the end of the alley when he suddenly disappeared into an unseen part of the back street.

John stood there, on guard, waiting for what felt like almost half an hour. The rain had picked up, now heavier than before. He looked up at the sky, which had become dark and cloudy, though it was barely noon. He checked his phone. While taking a few careful glances around, John wondered if he should text Sherlock to see what was taking him, but then he noticed a tall dark figure where Sherlock had gone. It could only be him, John reasoned.

"What took you so long? It's been nearly an hour – " John stopped when he heard a weak voice,

"John. Help."

With that, Sherlock collapsed onto the muddy ground.

"Sherlock!"

John rushed forward and immediately helped the fallen man to his feet, careful to not let him slip.

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><p><em>Review, please. Short, I know, but I promise I'll write more soon.<em>


	3. Chapter 3

John began to drag Sherlock, who was unable to stand because of a broken leg. He could see a slight bump where he knew, from his experience as a doctor, there was a slight displaced bone fracture. Thinking he might see who did this to Sherlock, John looked around, scanning every corner and every dark space. He didn't see anyone. It didn't matter, anyway, since John would have to stay with Sherlock. He didn't want anything bad to happen to his injured friend. Sherlock needed him now, more than he needed recompense. With a determined sigh, John lifted Sherlock onto his back, careful so as not to damage his leg any further. They – or rather, John – walked in silence, except the heavy breathing and occasional groaning of Sherlock. It took them about ten minutes to arrive back at Baker Street, despite Sherlock's broken leg. Carefully, John placed his injured friend on the concrete by the entrance to 221B.

"Mrs. Hudson," John started, but immediately regretted since he would rather help Sherlock without interruption or distraction. He didn't need the little lady bustling around, worrying and getting in the way. Fortunately, she didn't reply. John managed to carry Sherlock to the door of their flat before he had to put him down again. This time, he propped Sherlock's arm around his shoulder and tried to walk him to the couch.

When he set him down on the cushions, Sherlock let out a painful groan.

"Don't move, Sherlock. You've got a broken leg and it looks like a few fractured ribs," then he paused. "Maybe even a concussion based on your behavior. Stay there." Sherlock started to mumble something that John figured was a sarcastic remark, but John ignored him. He went to his room to fetch his medical supplies and extra pillows. When he went back to the living room, he saw that Sherlock had moved.

"What did I tell you? Don't move."

More mumbling came from the couch.

"Stop complaining. I've got to fix you up. I don't need you interfering with my work." As he said this, John pulled out a splint and muscle relaxants. He pushed the relaxant into Sherlock's mouth and gave him some water to make it go down. After a few minutes, John felt up the leg. It didn't feel too serious, but it still needed to be put back into place. First to go was Sherlock's coat. That came off easy enough. Quickly, his hands steady from experience, John unbuckled Sherlock's belt and undid his buttons. Sherlock's hands dug into the pillows when John removed his trousers, bumping against the fracture. John apologized mentally.

"Sherlock, this is going to hurt. A lot." With that, he put his hands on either side of the break and hoped that Sherlock wouldn't feel too much pain. John pushed the two fragments back together suddenly, and to his dismay, Sherlock cried out.

"John! Jesus!" Obviously, he needed some pain killers. And there were still the ribs. And the concussion. John sighed. What did Sherlock do to get into this mess? He tried to shake those thoughts out of head. He had to concentrate on the suffering man in front of him. As Sherlock lay there, slowly writhing in pain, John pulled out the pain killers and popped it into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock mumbled some more, this time more audible.

"... doing, John..."

"Don't try to talk. I'm just giving you pain killers before I fix the rest of you."

After putting his leg into a splint, John began to unbutton Sherlock's silky shirt, this time being more careful. Slowly, he peeled away the wet shirt from his friend's chest and abdomen, exposing the ribs, which were now vivid with blue and purple bruising. John started to get up from the couch, but Sherlock had grabbed his wrist. He looked at John, and the doctor couldn't help but feel pity for Sherlock.

"I'm just going to get some ice." John rose, but waited for Sherlock's grip to loosen before proceeding to the kitchen. John headed straight to the freezer. He opened the door, but had to rummage around before he could find anything that resembled ice. Settling on a bag of peas that had freezer burn, John strode back to Sherlock. He sat back down next to him and placed the bag gently on the bruised area of Sherlock's ribs. John heard a small gasp escape the detective and looked up at him. Sherlock looked so tired. John examined Sherlock's bare chest, noticing how shallow his breaths were.

"Try to breathe normally. You could get sick if you don't."

Immediately, Sherlock took a deep breath. John could see that it hurt, but it was for the best. Allowing his eyes to wander, John suddenly felt embarrassed when he had noticed that he was staring at Sherlock's skin. It was beautiful. That's when he saw it. That small bag poking out of Sherlock's shirt pocket.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading. Please review, I want to know how I'm doing. <em>


	4. Chapter 4

**Update! **

**Let me know if you think I should continue, otherwise, I'm going to leave it at this. If you aren't satisfied, let me know!**

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><p>"Sherlock, what is that?" John spoke, pointing at the plastic bag in Sherlock's shirt. When Sherlock didn't answer, John pulled his hand away. Aside from the occasional sharp breath, Sherlock appears to be completely asleep. Bur John couldn't let that happen. Not with a concussion. He shook his friend awake, begging him to open his eyes. Sherlock let out a small groan, but opened his eyes to look at John.<p>

"What was that, John?" It was weak, but at least he was talking.

"Nothing. I'll make you some tea." With that, John stood and headed for the kitchen, without waiting for a response from Sherlock. John knew what he had seen. He knew what was in that bag. He knew about Sherlock's drug habit, which he had recently thought was no longer a problem. Obviously, he was wrong.

John stayed with Sherlock through the night and into the early morning. He passed the time by sitting in his favorite chair, reading. Once in a while, Sherlock would try to sit up, only to wince in pain and resign to staying prostrate on the couch. He would occasionally ask John what he was reading. Once, around midnight, when Sherlock was in a state between dream and reality, he begged John to read aloud to him. John dosed off a few times, but never for more than half an hour. Soon, John would see the rays from the sun creeping through the sky, stretching over and past the buildings of London. But John wouldn't be able to see it, because his eyes were closed. And if his breathing patterns were any indication, he wouldn't be opening them any time soon. Sherlock had managed to sit up without too much discomfort, and was now staring at John. He saw the growing dark circles around his flat mate's eyes.

"John," Sherlock said quietly. John stirred at the sound of his own name, but he didn't open his eyes.

"John," Sherlock tried again. This time, John shifted in his seat, letting out a small groan. But he still wouldn't wake. This time, Sherlock rose from the couch, letting out a hiss when he stepped on his leg. He limped over to John's seat and leaned over him.

"John," Sherlock said louder as he placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. Bad move. John started awake and grabbed Sherlock's wrist and pulled. Sherlock tried to catch himself on the arms of the chair, but with only one hand, he was unsuccessful. Within seconds, Sherlock's head was on John's chest, his free hand on John's thigh. Once John realized what had happened, he took Sherlock by the shoulders and lifted him onto his feet.

"Sorry. Nightmare."

"Not a problem." Except, now Sherlock's mind was on the warm skin exposed by John's unbuttoned shirt below his jumper. John got to his feet and told Sherlock to lay down again.

"I won't waste any more time being sedentary. I must do something. Anything. John, I know you understand how this feels." Indeed, John did understand. "Don't, please don't, make me lay down. I can't stand it." John thought for a moment or two.

"All right, here's a proposition for you, Sherlock. Play for me."

"What?"

"Your violin. Play for me."

Sherlock stood for a moment, looking at John with a bemused expression. Then he strode to his case, pulled out his violin and began to play. It was a sad, slow song that had no words. John had no idea what he was playing, as per usual, but it was beautiful, as always. Sherlock had his eyes open, but only slightly, and was looking thoughtfully at the fingerboard. He played for nearly an hour before he removed the bow from the strings and set down the violin. John had on a blank countenance that told Sherlock that he was lost in his own deep thoughts, where the music had put him. It took a few moments for John to realize Sherlock had stopped playing. He looked up expectantly and widened his eyes.

"That was lovely. Tea?"

"Why not."

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><p><strong>This one's pretty short. I haven't had time to update, so forgive me. I have a lot of free time now that I've graduated (yes!) and hopefully, I'll keep adding to this. I haven't quite figured out where to go from here, but I have a few ideas, so keep checking back for more.<strong>


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